The next morning, my brother called as I was heading out the door. He wanted to warn me that he and Luke might be a little late because of traffic. I pretended to be irritated, just because I knew it was expected, but the truth was, I was sort of numb about the sports fair. I hoped I wasn't making a gigantic mistake.
The day breezed by, and when Clayton and Luke's 12:4,5 arrival time came and went, I finished my shift at the JV ring-toss booth—where I only had to explain to three or four thousand people why I was still playing on an underclassman team, thankyouverymuch—handed the cash box to Lyric and met up with Becca for what I hoped looked like a casual stroll around the fair.
Oldies music blared through the propped- up speakers, songs about big girls not crying and grease being the word. We passed some sophomore guys emptying their pockets for kisses from Chrissandra, Mandy and Elaine at the kissing booth; saw Kyle and some friends wolfing down barbecued- pork sandwiches; watched Rachael shoot baskets to win a stuffed animal and checked out the cooking club's fudge- tasting booth. But no food tempted me, not even the slice of pepperoni pizza that Becca waved under my nose.
“I can't,” I told her.
“Why? Nerves?”
“Breath.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Okay, breath and nerves.”
She rolled them again.
“Okay, nerves.”
She patted my arm. “It's not too late, you know. To call the whole thing off.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Maybe you don't want your old life back.”
I watched her pop the pizza crust in her mouth, letting her words sink in. Well, yeah, no way I'd suck up to Chrissandra again. I didn't need her “protection.” She wasn't the compassionate person she pretended to be to her close friends. In fact, I think the general population had her pegged better than I ever had. There would definitely be a change between us when I was on varsity. And that might not be an easy transition.
But I didn't want to freeze- frame right here, either. Stuck on JV, and with the knowledge that Emma's “boyfriend” was sure to come to every game.
I didn't want old. I didn't want new. What I wanted was better. And keeping with the Plan seemed like my only way there. As I watched my sophomore-year Spanish teacher on the dunk- tank plank, time pounded at me like a bad headache. Late was turning into later. And at some point, later would become too late. What would I do then?
So when a finger poked my shoulder, I felt my muscles relax. I turned. But instead of seeing the faces of my partners in crime, I saw a different kind of partner altogether.
“Don't you have a job to do?” Tristan asked.
Wearing his gray T-shirt and a smile that skimmed his lips, he had separated from his pack of friends, and the only person within earshot was Becca. I needed to close the gap between us good and fast—anyone could hear—but when I found myself senses first in his body space, I regretted the move. It felt like I'd lost too much oxygen, making me think of that Vacuum Kiss he'd talked about.
Breaking up, I decided, did not guarantee attraction immunity. Even when there was another girl in the picture. Even when you'd never really been together.
“They're just late,” I managed, hoping that was, in fact, true.
“You need me to pinch- hit? Be his understudy?”
Wow. That would be totally wrong, but, still, I was touched.
“You're sweet,” I told him. Noticing that he smelled good. Too good, and familiar. (Which, any way you looked at it, was not good.)
Anyway, I could not consider kissing him again, for real or for fake. And there was no way I could explain to him why he couldn't fill Luke's shoes. While he'd likely pull off the kiss better than any guy at school (or in Minnesota or the whole U.S. of A.), he just didn't have the clout of a former prom king. Or a pocketful of cash, for that matter. “But I'm sure they'll get here,” I added.
“Yeah,” he said, giving up without a fight. Making me wonder if he hadn't read between the lines after all.
But there was nothing I could do about that. Es pecially with Becca nudging me and pointing to the small crowd forming at the entry gate.
Which meant only one thing. Showtime.
•
My nerves tingled when I got a quick eyeful of my college cavalry entering the fair. I didn't bother to wave hello to Clayton and Luke, just grabbed Becca and hightailed it back toward the girls’ soccer booths.
Mandy, Elaine and Chrissandra stood puckering and ready in the varsity booth, apparently in between customers. Lyric was running things at the JV ring toss along with a couple of midfielders. I noticed that Hartley had vacated her folding chair in the JV booth, and I didn't see her anywhere around.
“How are we doing, cashwise?” I asked Lyric.
“Good. Almost sixty bucks.”
I nodded, then crossed the narrow alley and asked the same of Mandy.
“Why?” she countered.
I fought back a scowl. So much for the days of unconditional friendship. That had ended when Hartley changed the conditions. No, actually, my friendship with Mandy had ended when Chrissandra changed the conditions.
“Hartley,” I said, with no compunction about lying to her, “told me to keep tabs.”
“Okay, then. We've collected a little over a hundred.”
Chrissandra trained her eyes on me. “Kyle's probably paid half of that—it's like he can't wait till Friday night, out at the lake.” She laughed, and Mandy and Elaine did, too.
I was tempted to point out that I'd spent the last hour just a few feet away and all I'd seen Kyle get his mouth around was a pork sandwich. But why bother? It had to be happy on her planet.
To busy myself, I wandered back to the ring toss and bought a half dozen rings. I quickly learned that you had to pay attention to land those suckers on the milk bottles, and with the roar of voices and footsteps coming closer and closer, that wasn't an option for me.
I snuck a look at the kissing booth, to see Chrissandra shoving Mandy and Elaine behind her, then doing a boob thrust and a welcoming smile. Clearly, Luke was approaching. And she knew a godly thing when she saw one.
“Hey, Luuuuuke,” she said, drawing out his name as if they were old friends. (In her dreams.) “Kisses are three dollars apiece, but I'll offer you two for five.”
Oh, puh- lease! All he'd have to do would be to look remotely interested, and she'd have one of her hangers-on start him a tab.
“Thanks,” he said; then his voice increased in volume. “But I'm here for Parker.”
“Parker?” Chrissandra echoed.
My name floating in the air, I turned their way. Luke looked the total part of a player, in a Hawaiian shirt, with his hair falling lazily into his eyes. People were starting to move in, drawn simply by his presence.
“You heard me,” he said.
Chrissandra laughed in her “silly, silly you” way. “She can't work this booth. She didn't make varsity.”
I cringed in case anyone glanced at me. It was pretty horrid to hear my loser status announced so loud and clear. And to think I'd choreographed and produced this degradation.
“Doesn't change a thing for me.” Luke spoke his line boldly. “I'm here to kiss Parker, and I'm willing to pay plenty to make it happen.”
My heart started beating all over my body. Antici pation? Excitement? No, I think just nerves again. But figuring it was about time for my formal entrance, I stepped forward and plastered on a smile. “Luke, hi.”
His eyes smiled first, then his lips. (Boy, was he good.) “Hi yourself. You up for a kiss for a good cause?”
I nodded, while girls from close by wandered in and girls as far as five miles away drew a collective sigh.
Except for Chrissandra, who pounded a fist on the counter. Then she snapped a look at me—filled with anger and suspicion.
Making me realize a fatal flaw in our plan: Chrissandra knew there was nothing between Luke and me. No sparks, no chemistry. No nothing. She knew I was just a kid sister to him. She knew that something was up, that she was being trumped—or maybe worse. And she was not giving me one inch of Luke, of her status or of her power without a fight.
I narrowed my own eyes.
Hers turned cold and hard. Unforgiving.
I knew right then and there that Chrissandra Hickey hated me. Truly hated me. And that the hatred had been festering inside her for some time. The put- downs, the countering of compliments, the jokes at my expense? All meant to wound, to hurt, to destroy.
I just didn't know why.
Was this because of Kyle and his car- ride generosity? Or something deeper?
I held her eye, returning her “Die, witch” stare. Which gave her a jolt before her brow settled into something meaner and darker.
Coach Hartley pushed through the crowd, dunktank wet, in an oversized T-shirt and shorts over a one-piece. Behind her, I spotted a wary- eyed Tristan, arms folded, and the fuzzy crown of my brother's blond head.
“What's going on here?” she asked, adjusting the towel tied turban- style over her hair.
“Luke Anderson,” Chrissandra announced, pointing at him, “wants to kiss Parker here at the booth.”
Hartley stopped before him and leveled him with a gaze. “You'll have to wait a year.”
Cords stretched in his throat as his voice rose. “I've got three hundred bucks that says the kiss happens now. All you have to do is put her on varsity for a few minutes.”
Hartley screwed up her face. But there must have been at least a hint of temptation in her eyes, because Chrissandra jumped up on the booth's counter.
“Don't you get it, Coach Hartley? Parker's trying to buy her way onto varsity through her brother's buddy.”
Crap! Was it too late to move to New Jersey, meet a family of mobsters and take out a contract on her?
“She's desperate,” she screamed. “She'll try anything, since ratting AJ out didn't work.”